Fatal Distraction
by Grim Lupine
Summary: Modern-day AU: Raven is Charles's older sister, Erik is her best friend, and Charles is in love. /CharlesErik/ /RavenAngel/
1. Charles

**Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.**

Notes: Modern-day no-powers AU: Raven is Charles's older sister and Erik is her best friend from college, and Charles develops a desperate crush on Erik that evolves into something more. For anyone who might be worried: Charles meets Erik at 15, but they don't have sex until Charles is 18.

* * *

><p>Raven is six years older than Charles; Charles has never really considered this age difference vitally important in one way or another, except to decide that even if Raven were six years <em>younger<em> than Charles, she would probably boss him around in the exact same way. He doesn't really think much of the difference between fifteen and twenty-one, until Raven comes home from college for a study weekend with her new best friend in tow, introduces him cheerfully as Erik Lehnsherr, and Charles finds himself falling head-over-heels into a train wreck of doomed lust.

Erik is tall and lean, all sharp angles and strong hands and a waist that Charles can't take his eyes off of; his voice is low and rumbling and male, hits Charles square in the stomach like a fist, and Charles holds his hand out and says, "Hello, I'm Charles," hoping desperately that he doesn't look as slack-jawed stunned as he feels, that he sounds adult and not like the little boy of fifteen that he is.

Erik takes his hand, firm grip, dizzying warm touch, and his mouth quirks as he says, "Erik. It's a pleasure to meet you, Charles." He lets go after a stretch of time that is both far too short and agonizingly long, and disappears into the house with Raven; and then, and only then, does Charles remember to breathe.

* * *

><p>What follows is a long two years of helpless attraction on Charles's part whenever Raven and Erik come home. They're out of college now but they're working very nearby, and while Charles's mother might not care much about who comes and goes at home, Charles is always eager to see his sister and her best friend, so they visit often and stay as long as they can.<p>

Charles asks Raven once, early on, if she and Erik are dating, and is immeasurably reassured when Raven bursts out laughing.

"Oh, _god_ no," she says, still laughing as she speaks. "He's my best friend. I mean, not that he's not hot, because I've got _eyes_, but I like 'em a little less 'tall, dark and broody', you know?"

Charles doesn't know, because all evidence points to 'tall, dark and broody' being _exactly_ his type, but he smiles anyway, and curls into Raven's welcome half-embrace.

Instead of his attraction fading, Charles finds miserably that it only seems to intensify over those two years, because Erik is not just so effortlessly gorgeous that Charles has to jerk off twice before each time Erik visits so he won't embarrass himself, he's also intelligent and sarcastic and sweet when he thinks no one is paying attention, and he listens so intently when Charles talks that Charles feels a little faint, and he never, never treats Charles like a child.

Sometimes, when Charles's mother has been in bed for most of the day with a headache, Charles takes his homework over to Raven's apartment and spends a blissful evening there and sometimes the night as well. Erik is usually there, too, sitting sprawled on the couch with a book propped on his thigh and half his attention on the television. Raven works on her laptop and pokes Charles every once in a while and yells at the TV whenever someone enters an unlocked house by themselves or otherwise does something that proves them too stupid to live; Erik laughs at her and slouches lower in his seat, legs falling further open. Charles buries his face in his textbook and steals glances at the line of Erik's cock in his jeans, thinks about kneeling between his open legs and putting his mouth right there, feels his mouth flush wet with hunger.

"This is how we know your sister never cleans this couch," Erik says one time, voice low and amused, before he reaches out and rakes his fingers through Charles's hair with no warning. Charles freezes, breath catching in his throat, and then he sees the shred of the fabric softener sheet that had apparently been caught in Charles's hair, now twisted in Erik's fingers. "Unless this is a fashion statement?" Erik asks, eyebrow arching, and Charles coughs to clear his throat.

"No, it's definitely Raven's fault," Charles says, inordinately proud of the way his voice doesn't waver one bit, and Raven makes a rude noise and pushes Charles's head down into the couch and tells Erik, "Oh, you're one to talk, I've seen your place. You're supposed to get _rid_ of the dust, not make friends with it, you know."

Erik shoots something back in response, but Charles has stopped listening at this point. He turns casually over onto his stomach and picks his book up again, trying to hide the fact that he's gone half-hard from just the feel of Erik's fingers in his hair and the searing heat of his focused attention.

For a seventeen-year-old perpetually caught in the throes of teenage hormones, Erik makes life difficult, to say the least.

* * *

><p>Charles knows this is all hopeless, and most likely just an exceptionally persistent crush due to proximity that will fade away with time, and someday in the future Charles might even confess it to Erik and blush and accept his good-natured ribbing, but—<p>

Charles is almost certainly imagining it, but he thinks that slowly, something has changed in the way Erik looks at him.

Charles has grown less than he'd like in the last two years, but he _has_ grown, lost a little roundness in his face, limbs lengthening, and the mirror tells him that he's not half-bad looking. He's somewhat attached to his hair, actually. Occasionally he gets a look or two that he recognizes, that makes him flush a little, that he never really ends up going after.

The one time Charles comes over in a pair of jeans that are a little too small but he wants to get some more wear out of, and a button-down shirt that he's been told is the exact color of his eyes, Raven looks at him for a moment like she's seeing him in a new light and says, grinning, "Looking good, little brother. Any romantic prospects on the horizon?"

"Yes, I'm beating them off with a stick," Charles says dryly, and Raven ruffles his hair and mockingly pinches his cheek and tells him it'll all come with time, no rush, while Charles scowls and tries his best to duck her hand.

Erik says nothing, but his gaze stutters before he meets Charles's eyes, a momentary hesitation, and for an instant—one fleeting, blink-and-you'll-miss-it instant—Charles sees something in his face that makes his mouth go dry and his heart start pounding in his chest.

Erik looks away and makes a dry comment and the moment is gone, but Charles tucks the memory of it away, buries it deep in his chest, a small spark of hope he will let himself nurture, unwise though it may be.

* * *

><p>"Have a good night, dear," Charles's mother says distractedly when Raven and Erik are over one evening, and then she disappears into her room with a glass of wine and not even a backward glance. Raven is berating someone she works with over the phone in the other room. It's not even eight PM.<p>

Charles doesn't look up from his book, but he can feel his mouth crumple a little at the corners, an old dull hurt thumping inside him at the fact that he can't remember the last evening he spent with his mother's full attention on him.

There's a rustling from behind him, the sound of Erik shifting awkwardly, and then Charles feels a hand brush tentatively over his hair. For once Charles doesn't let himself think; turns his head to the side and traps Erik's hand between his face and the back of the couch, giving into selfishness for a moment and taking the comfort he wants, eyes sliding shut. Erik's hand is still for an instant, before he runs his thumb through Charles's hair and then his other fingers over Charles's face, a stuttering caress. Charles's throat is tight. When he blinks, he can feel his eyelashes brushing Erik's palm.

Erik makes a low, inarticulate noise, and tightens his fingers before he draws his hand away.

Charles doesn't want to open his eyes and look up, but he forces himself to do so. Erik looks a little uncomfortable, but somehow Charles can tell it's more self-doubt than anything else, as if he's unsure if he even helped at all.

Raven comes into the room at that moment, so Charles doesn't say thank you, but he has a feeling that his heart is in his eyes and Erik has heard it anyway.

* * *

><p>Erik still listens intently when Charles babbles about his science classes and how he wants to go into genetics, but now he does so with a strange look on his face—it's a little like the look Charles has caught on Raven's face more than once, the one that recognizes that Charles has actually grown up now, only on Erik's face it looks more taken aback, a little like a revelation.<p>

Erik doesn't throw his arm around Charles anymore, doesn't ruffle a hand through his hair, doesn't clasp the back of his neck with one hand and leave it there for a minute or two, and Charles tries not to miss it, the easy physicality Erik used to share with him. Erik is more careful with his touches, but Charles considers it an even trade for what he gets in return: a slow dawning light of change in Erik's eyes; the new weight of his gaze, lingering over Charles's body; the momentary stumble of Erik's perpetually sure feet when he sees Charles stretch his arms, shirt riding up to bare his waist, an invitation on Charles's part, if Erik is inclined to accept it.

Next to Erik, Charles feels so thoroughly young, all arms and legs and clumsiness, palpable want and awkward words, so _obvious_ it hurts; but Erik has never looked at Charles like he's too young to be worth something, and the way he looks at Charles now—

Charles is not imagining it; but he knows better than to accept a theory without testing it thoroughly first.

More than one of the looks Charles has been getting at school have been aimed at his mouth; sometimes when Charles is in his room, he puts two of his fingers in his mouth and swallows around them as he fists his cock, imagines what it would be like to suck Erik's cock with Erik's hands in his hair and Erik's voice resonating in his ears. After Charles has come, he catches sight of himself in the mirror, his mouth sloppy-wet and pink. He looks like someone who would be good at sucking cock and would love it, too.

The next time Erik and Raven are over, Charles checks out of the corner of his eye to see if Erik is looking at him, and then swipes his tongue over his lower lip before sucking it into his mouth, feigning concentration on his homework. Erik's jaw clenches. Charles pops his Diet Coke open, licks the wetness off his thumb in a long slide, then casually looks to see Erik's reaction.

Erik is staring down at his lap. The back of his neck is flushed pink, and his fingers are so tight around his own thigh that his knuckles have gone white. Charles can practically feel the air crackling around him.

Charles excuses himself to the bathroom, where he bites down on his free hand and jerks himself off with the other, and comes so hard he thinks he's _broken_ something.

* * *

><p>Charles lies awake one night, listening to the sound of footsteps below him in the kitchen pacing back and forth. His mother won't be woken for love or for money, and Raven is a thoroughly sound sleeper at night, but Charles didn't need to know either of those things to know that it's Erik moving around downstairs. Of course it's Erik.<p>

Before Charles can talk himself out of it, he gets out of bed and strips off his shirt, sets his hair aright, and trips lightly down the stairs in just his pajama pants. He's flushing already with a dizzy mixture of nervousness and anticipation and lust, heart pounding with how _stupid_ this is, christ, it's like something out of a seduction how-to, one of those magazines at the checkout aisles, he'll be lucky if Erik doesn't just laugh him out of the kitchen where he stands.

But everyone else is asleep, and Charles knows the intimate sound of Erik's restless feet at night from two years of listening to it like a heartbeat, and Charles just wants to be reckless, for once.

Erik turns as soon as Charles steps into the kitchen, all fine-tuned reflexes, and Charles is concentrating so hard on looking as casual and unruffled as he possibly can that he almost misses the dip of Erik's eyes, a hot slide over Charles's body, and the way his throat works when he swallows.

Almost.

Charles smiles in greeting (feels it tremble at the edges), turns to get a glass out of the cupboard, and he says over his shoulder, "Couldn't sleep?"

Erik is watching the curve of his back, Charles _knows_ it; even when he's looking at the cupboard, his skin prickles under the weight of Erik's gaze. Charles goes hot all over, knows the back of his neck is pink.

"I had some trouble, yeah," Erik says at last, and his voice is controlled, but there's an audible rough edge to it, and Charles can't help his shiver at the sound. "And you?" Erik continues, as Charles fills his glass with cold water, hoping it will cool the flushed burn of his body. Erik's eyes fall to Charles's bare chest again and linger, this time. He meets Charles's gaze afterward, as if waiting for an explanation.

Charles drinks, slowly, sets his glass down and sucks water off his bottom lip. Erik's mouth is parted softly, and he isn't blinking at all.

"It's a little warm in my room," Charles says quietly, but there's a waver in his voice, fuck he sounds too _young_, and something in Erik's expression cracks open at that because he can't play clueless anymore, can he, and he says, "_Charles_," a plea, a warning, Charles doesn't know, and Charles—

Charles kisses him.

Just gets up on his toes, braces a hand on Erik's firm chest, catches his half-open mouth and kisses him the way Charles has wanted to for years, because if he doesn't take his courage in hand and jump off this cliff now, he doesn't know if he ever will during this lifetime.

Charles expects Erik to shove him back, maybe, or perhaps kiss him chastely and then turn Charles gently away.

He doesn't expect the way Erik opens up for him like he needed it as much as Charles, or the broad hand that rests at Charles's lower back and pulls him in closer, a searing brand against Charles's bare skin. Charles has _wanted_ so much he couldn't stand it, but he never expected to get even this much.

Erik nips at Charles's lower lip and then pulls it into his mouth, tonguing the curve of it repeatedly until it feels tender, like the skin of a plum; Charles is hard, blushing from the wet gasping sounds he can hear himself making, and he wants, oh, he wants to see his cock disappear into the tight clutch of Erik's huge hand, he wants Erik's fingers to slide beneath his waistband and touch him any way he likes, he wants to fall to his knees, he wants _everything_.

Erik groans into Charles's mouth, brings his hand up to cup the back of Charles's neck, and finally pulls away. Charles makes a noise that is embarrassingly close to a whimper and tries to get at his mouth again, and Erik, in an apparent fit of weakness, lets him do so for a moment; but Charles has barely gotten the taste of Erik back on his tongue before Erik yanks himself away again, letting out a helpless sound, stepping backward and looking as though the physical distance is all that is keeping him from throwing himself back at Charles.

"Charles, I—we can't," Erik says, fisting his hands at his sides. He is the picture of a man torn between two violently warring impulses.

"Don't tell me you don't want to," Charles says, in an inexplicable rush of equanimity, as if the sight of Erik's uncertainty only bolsters his own resolve. "You've never lied to me before."

Erik visibly hesitates, before saying quietly, "Then I won't start now. But Charles, you've only just turned seventeen, and you're Raven's baby brother, and—" He's clearly searching for the right words to articulate just why this is such a bad idea, and all the while he's staring at Charles's mouth like the only thing in the world he wants to do is reach out and touch.

Something in Charles tells him not to push. Not now.

When Charles says nothing for a moment, Erik shuts his mouth, reaches out and runs his thumb over Charles's cheek, and says, "I'm sorry, I—good night, Charles." In a less controlled man, one might call his retreat from the kitchen 'running away'. Charles is sure that in Erik's head, he's labeled it a tactical retreat.

Charles touches his own mouth with two fingers, feels the swollen, wet curve of it, and smiles to himself. Erik is running scared, because he _wants_ this—he wants Charles and doesn't know what to do about it, and now that Charles knows that for certain, everything will be fine. He only has to wait for Erik to catch up.

Charles is very good at biding his time. He's waited this long; a little while longer won't kill him.

Heading back to his bedroom, Charles wonders idly if Erik would appreciate that old t-shirt he hasn't thrown away yet, that fits a little too tight across Charles's chest and bares a few inches of his stomach and is worn so soft you can practically see his nipples through it.

Charles is willing to wait, but no one said he can't cheat a little while he does.


	2. Raven

Junior year, Raven realizes that majoring in social computing does not actually excuse her from the natural science credits she needs to graduate, and after a disgruntled bout of searching through the available classes, she picks the only one that fits around the rest of her schedule (blah blah blah something about evolution) and calls it a day.

The first Tuesday that class meets, Raven pulls out her laptop and opens up a Word document, intending to pay attention and take notes like the good student she really is (most of the time). Then the professor starts talking about some dude named Ussher and the age of the Earth, and Raven decides she'll check Facebook just _once_, and then she blacks out or something and comes to at the end of class when everyone starts rustling papers and packing up to leave.

Raven blinks, then turns her head and catches the eye of the guy sitting next to her, spotting the same look of vaguely traumatized boredom she's sure she's got on her face.

"Social computing," Raven says, pointing at herself and shrugging, and the guy grins.

"Civil engineering," he says. "Natural science requirements, huh?"

"_Sucks_," she says. "I'm Raven."

"Erik," he says, holding out his hand to shake hers in a firm grip. "Erik Lehnsherr."

* * *

><p>Raven's never hit it off with someone quite as fast as she does with Erik; she's got other friends, and she loves them all, but it's a little like they're all friends with a different, individual part of her, whereas Erik just <em>gets<em> her as a whole. It's instinctive, effortless.

Raven likes her women with bite and her men a little goofy, and Erik's type seems to run toward guys more often than not, so they neatly sidestep the issue of "oh well no thanks I don't really want to date you" and move right on to being weirdly codependent best friends. Erik spends a lot of his time in Raven's room, because even with her half-hearted cleaning job, it's still a sight better than the disaster zone that is Erik's.

The first time he comes over, she notices him looking at the picture tacked up above her desk, and says, "Oh, yeah, that's me and my little brother. Charles."

"He doesn't look much like you," Erik inquires, in a way that indicates he'll drop it there if she wants him to.

"Yeah, step-brother, I guess—we're more each other's family than anyone else, though," Raven says, tugging her sweatshirt off as she speaks, voice muffled by the cloth. "My dad married his mom when I was eleven, so he was, uh, five—oh man, he was _adorable_, I was prepared to hate him and everything else in life but he was, like, tiny and shy and he thought I was the most awesome thing ever. Which I am, so."

Erik looks amused. Raven's pretty used to filling silences, and he never looks bored when she does, so she continues with the saga of the Charles and Raven show.

"But my dad, he's, what's the polite way to put this—he's kind of a dick. He doesn't like Charles, and I'm not sure he likes Sharon all that much either, and he might like me, but he's never done much about it," she continues, shrugging away the old sting of it—Raven doesn't believe in dwelling on things that can't be changed. "So he travels for work, and he's home probably a month or two out of the whole year, and Sharon's kind of really emotionally absent, so Charles is—he's mine to look after. He's my baby brother."

She doesn't really know why she's telling him all this, except that Erik has the rare gift of creating that inviting kind of silence that makes people want to spill their secrets in front of him. And he won't judge her for her rambling, inept confessions—the only way he can talk about his feelings is when he's drunk off his ass and near-unintelligible, and the fact that she's already seen him in precisely that state more than once means he has absolutely no room to talk.

"I don't have any siblings," Erik says, a note of wistful regret in his voice. He's not ignoring her story; he's just telling her that if she's done talking about it, he'll move on, and if she wants to talk more, he's there.

Raven grins at him, suddenly overcome by a rush of fondness, and she says, "Well, if you want one, I'm around. I've got a little bit of experience with gaining unexpected brothers."

Erik grins back, looking pleased and a little shy, and sprawls all over her bed for a Food Network marathon like he's been there forever.

* * *

><p>Raven remembers this conversation later on, and <em>god<em>, does she _laugh_.

It's either that or get ragingly drunk, so.

* * *

><p>When Raven brings Erik home over study break, because otherwise he'll just mope around on campus and tear his own hair out without her there to put things into perspective for him ("Even if you fail this exam, which you <em>won't<em>, one exam will not ruin your life forever, Erik. Don't be such a drama queen."), she's a little nervous about Charles meeting him. They're her two favorite people, after all, and she wants them to get along. Luckily, Charles seems to take to Erik instantly, and Erik tells Raven, later, "I don't remember what I was like at fifteen, but I don't think I was half as intelligent or grounded as he is."

It doesn't occur to her to be worried about them getting along _too_ well until the third time she brings Erik home—Erik goes for a run early in the morning, comes back with his shirt dampened with sweat, pink from exertion, drinks deep from a water bottle and wipes his mouth with the back of one broad hand. Raven steals a glance or two, because a girl's got to get her entertainment somewhere, and then her gaze shifts slightly to the right as she catches Charles doing the _exact same thing_.

Huh.

Raven blinks in surprise, watches Charles go into silent fits while trying to act casual as he offers Erik some coffee, and shelves the issue until she's awake enough to mull over it properly.

When she does, she decides to let it go without saying anything for a while, see if it disappears on its own. Part of her wants to tease the hell out of Charles—older sister's prerogative, after all—while another part freezes in an instinctive, protective panic of "oh shit he's getting crushes on people what if he starts _dating_" that she manages to quash with some effort.

Months go by with Charles practically falling all over himself every time Erik looks at him (he's actually remarkably subtle for a fifteen-year-old, but no one knows Charles like Raven does, and to her he's basically shouting it from the rooftops), and Raven realizes that, yeah, if the crush is still going strong, it might not just go away on its own. It does make sense: Erik is nice to Charles in that intent, non-condescending way that means he actually likes Charles and isn't just humoring him, and he looks like—well. It's not really surprising.

There's still no way Raven can let it go without saying anything when she sees Charles wander into the kitchen after talking to Erik, looking a little despondent; her first instinct will always be to fix whatever's bothering Charles, and if she does it with a strange combination of sincerity and teasing, well, it works for them.

Raven can safely say that when she met Erik in junior year, she didn't expect she'd ever be having this conversation.

"You know I'm here if you want to talk about anything, right?" Raven asks gently, patting the chair next to her meaningfully. Charles visibly hesitates, before giving into years of habit, of Raven being his sole confidant, and sits down.

"So, I'm gay," Charles says, sounding kind of miserable.

Raven tucks him under her arm and says, "Okay. So are you looking for shock, because I can do shock, I'm good at that wide-eyed shit, or did you want a different—" Charles interrupts her by choking on a laugh, muffling it against her shoulder, and she continues, "Anyone in particular catch your eye?"

"You already know," Charles says, "of course you know, you just want to give me a hard time—"

"That's kind of my job, brat," Raven says very seriously, tugs on Charles's hair. Charles pokes her in retaliation, and then mutters after a minute, "Did you really have to find a best friend who looks like _that_?"

"What, did you want me to tell him _I'm sorry, we can't be friends, you're just so hot that my little brother's going to have wet dreams about you and that's not_— "

"_Raven!_" Charles says indignantly, the back of his neck turning a bright, scandalized red. Raven hides her laughter in Charles's hair.

"Well, as far as embarrassing crushes go, you could do worse," Raven tells him. "Remember Mr. Newman?"

"The one who taught English when you were in the tenth grade?" Charles asks, frowning a little. "Yeah, what does—oh, Raven, _ugh_, really?"

"Hey, it was a lot easier to forget that he's got bug-eyes when he was reading poetry to the class, okay?" Raven says, laughing even as she blushes a little. The embarrassment's worth it, though, for the way Charles's face clears and he grins, bright and sweet.

"Want to watch something with explosions?" Raven asks, nudging him, and Charles agrees fervently, "_Please_," and Raven silently pats herself on the back for handling that like the awesome big sister she is.

* * *

><p>Though Charles gets better at hiding it, the crush obviously persists, stretching months until Raven blinks and looks at Charles and realizes that her little brother is, well, not really little anymore?<p>

This is around the time that Erik starts looking _back_.

The first time Raven sees Erik almost drop coffee into his lap because Charles shows a flash of leg or something, she goes out that evening and get staggeringly drunk until she can wrap her head around the idea that her best friend might very well be dating her brother someday.

Someday being years and _years_ into the future, of course.

"This is probably going to be a disaster," she tells the extremely hot bartender whose name is Angel, and who smiles at her in a sly way that Raven really, really likes.

"Another one?" Angel asks meaningfully, motioning toward her drink.

"Yes," Raven says, "yes, please, there is not enough alcohol in this whole bar for how drunk I need to get right now."

"Why don't we just start you with one and see how it goes from there?" Angel suggests, laughing a little.

The hangover Raven has the next morning does not exactly lend itself to thinking through this Charles and Erik business reasonably, but she waits a few hours and gives it her best go anyway.

So, okay:

Charles is her baby brother, and she likes to coddle him sometimes, and sometimes he likes to let her, but in all the ways that count, he's pretty old for his age. He's mature and damn intelligent and he knows what he wants from life, and stubborn enough that he won't settle until he gets it, and, well—

As weird as this all is, to be honest, she can't think of anyone who would be more careful with Charles than Erik. There's definitely no one she trusts more.

"Ugh, it's like they're _trying_ to make my life as complicated as possible," she mutters to her empty apartment, but without any real irritation.

She's a little ahead of the curve, because she knows how Erik is when it comes to admitting things to himself, but she's almost certain:

It may not happen for a while, but it _is_ going to happen, and when it does, Raven will be there to laugh at the two idiots she loves so well.

* * *

><p>It takes a few months, but when Raven's right, she's right.<p>

Erik doesn't keep secrets from Raven—she's the one he _tells_ his secrets to, so she can offer her perspective and pull his head out of his ass, if need be. So when Charles is conspicuously absent from breakfast one morning, and Erik keeps fumbling with his fork and won't look her in the eye and there's guilt written in every inch of his body, Raven knows it's only a matter of time before he breaks.

It takes less than ten minutes.

"Charles kissed me last night," Erik blurts, and then looks like he'd like to punch himself in the mouth and shove the words back inside. "I, I was awake and he came down for water, and—"

"He seduced you in our _kitchen_?" Raven asks in what is definitely not a yelp, no, really, it's totally calm. "Way to pick the most inappropriate setting possible, Charles."

"There wasn't any seduction!" Erik says, eyes wide.

"Really?" Raven frowns. "Okay, then either you've got a lot more willpower than I gave you credit for, or Charles wasn't trying all that hard."

Erik just stares at her for a minute, wearing an expression that says he'd like for the world to start making sense again, please. That's another thing Raven can appreciate about this situation—with Erik's usual self-possession, it's rare that she gets to see him look quite so gobsmacked.

Erik rubs his face with both hands and mutters, "I need more coffee."

"You didn't blow him off, did you?" Raven demands. "Because he's had a thing for you since forever, and if you weren't—"

"I told him that I couldn't," Erik says, looking down at his hands. "That he's seventeen, and your little brother, and it, I mean, I _can't_."

"…So basically you panicked." Raven pats his hand and downs the rest of her coffee in one go. "You should probably work on getting over that now."

"Is this an alternate universe?" Erik asks with disbelief and not a little bit of agitation. "You're supposed to be threatening me with death and dismemberment, not—_encouraging_ this."

Raven looks him in the eye, and asks him seriously, "Do you like him? Be honest with me."

Erik nods his head jerkily and runs a hand through his hair. "He's—bright," he says at last, visibly picking his words carefully, not quite looking at her. "And I don't mean intelligent, though he is. I mean—he's—" he trails off a little helplessly.

"I know," Raven says, because she _does_. Charles is just good through and through, compassionate and open, sweet with an unexpected wicked edge that makes him more real. She's been watching Erik get drawn toward Charles's flame for two years now, even when none of them knew where it would end up.

Raven shrugs, mouth quirking a little, and says, "I trust you. You'll be good to him."

"Because you'll murder me slowly if I'm not," Erik says dryly, tensed shoulders finally relaxing for the first time since they started their conversation.

Raven points at him and says, smirking, "I've always told people you're smarter than you look."

Erik grins at her for a minute, before it slides off his face and he gets serious again, and he says, "You—I'll wait until he's eighteen. I promise."

Raven eyes him and says wryly, "I know you mean that, and it's very sweet that you think it'll happen. But it's not really necessary, and I guarantee you Charles has different ideas."

"I'll wait," Erik repeats firmly, mouth set, all iron will.

Pitting Charles's stubbornness—coupled with the multi-part seduction strategy he's no doubt devised—against Erik's honorable intentions; if Raven doesn't think too hard about what it is that Charles wants and Erik won't give him yet, the thought of it is _hilarious_.

"Yeah, good luck with that," Raven says, smirking, and claps Erik on the shoulder.

* * *

><p>"He's going to cave like <em>wet paper<em>," Raven moans, propping her head up on one hand, while Angel makes soothing noises and sets another drink in front of her and very kindly keeps her laughter to herself. "I _know_ my little brother," Raven continues, "and he's got the, you know, the big blue eyes and the _face_ and he knows how to use 'em. I never could tell him 'no' when we were kids. Erik doesn't stand a chance."

"Still think it's going to be a disaster?" Angel asks with interest, and Raven scowls a little.

"No," she sighs. "But I worry."

"Of course you're going to worry about him, he's your brother," Angel says. "But you do think they'll work."

Raven looks at Angel, and makes a face. "That's the _problem_," she says miserably, and then flaps her hand around, "no, it's not—it's not a _problem_, I trust Erik, to be honest I'm more worried about Erik being in over his head than I am Charles. I'm just—you know. I have to rearrange them into different categories. Move Erik from the 'best friend' spot to the 'guy whose balls I'm obligated to threaten if he hurts my baby brother' place. And now Charles is potentially going to be having sex, which, oh god, let's not think about that right now." Raven lets her head drop onto the table. "Really, I'm just getting all my whining out tonight so it's done with."

Angel considers this for a moment. "So what you're saying is that you're fine with it, you just really need to not think about it."

"Exactly," Raven says, pointing at Angel without lifting her head.

There's a silence, and when Raven finally looks up, she sees a slow, inviting smile spread across Angel's face before she says, eyebrow arched, "You want some help with that?"

Raven blinks, but regroups almost instantaneously. She's been flirting for months, so _yeah_ she'd like some help with that. "That definitely sounds like a better idea than killing my liver," she says, grinning.

"You sure know how to flatter a girl," Angel says, voice dry with sarcasm, but her fingers curl around Raven's wrist for a brief, hot moment, and _oh_ yeah, Raven's night is definitely looking up.

* * *

><p>Raven doesn't know she's holding onto a last, tiny bit of worry until it's finally gone.<p>

One day she walks into a room to find Charles backing Erik against a wall and kissing him firmly, and oh god she really didn't need to see that, thank you very much; but before she can cover her eyes and leave, Charles pulls away and looks at Erik expectantly, and Erik stares down at him with his mouth still a little open, and Raven doesn't quite manage to exit the room, something stopping her in her tracks.

Neither of them notices her there.

"Charles," Erik says at last, sounded a little exasperated and all kinds of fond and just plain _happy_, and Charles has a look on his face that says the same exact thing, and Raven feels something inside her chest clench, in a good way.

"Erik," Charles mimics with the same tone of voice.

"I thought we talked about the ambushes," Erik says, clearly trying to bite down on a grin and failing miserably.

"Just trying to remind you what you're missing out on by being so ridiculous about this waiting business," Charles says innocently. It's the way he sounded every time Raven would take him somewhere when they were kids in the hopes that his face would get her out of trouble (it never failed), so Raven knows exactly how innocent it isn't.

"You're going to drive me crazy, aren't you," Erik says helplessly, reaching out to thread a hand into Charles's hair, and _okay_, Raven really has seen enough at this point.

She leaves the room as quietly as she entered it, and shakes her head to herself at the realization that those two are going to be absolutely _revolting_ together.

She can't stop smiling all day.

* * *

><p>Three days later, Charles storms into the living room with a fistful of the condoms Raven had stuffed in every drawer in his room, his backpack, and under the sheets on his bed, looking pink and a little mortified, and he says, "Raven, <em>what<em>—"

Just because he wants to have sex doesn't mean he wants _Raven_ to know he wants to have sex, apparently. Well, that just sucks for him.

Raven grins at him, all teeth. "You're welcome," she says cheerfully. "Now, I want to make sure you know how to use these properly, so go get me a banana and we'll do a demonstration."

Charles gives her an agonized look, says, "_Please_ don't be helpful anymore," and practically flees the room, while Raven gives up and starts snickering helplessly at his _face_.

Hey. Whatever else happens, she's still his big sister.

This is her _job_.


	3. Erik

**Warning: Explicit sex.**

* * *

><p>Charles takes Erik's fumbled explanation—that, yes, Charles is not entirely alone in his inappropriate attraction (which is actually really only inappropriate from Erik's side), but they can't act on it right now, they're going to have to wait until Charles turns eighteen—with relative equanimity, which should really tip Erik off immediately that something is not right.<p>

As it is, though, Erik's just relieved enough to not have his resolve tested that he doesn't examine Charles's acquiescence too closely; this is why he is completely blindsided at the evolution of Charles's carefully calculated war of seduction, apparently designed to drive Erik completely out of his _mind_.

Charles takes to wearing clothes that Erik suspects have come from the early depths of his closet, because they all fit too tightly, too short, too _not enough_. Charles stretches up to close a window, and Erik gets lost in the pale band of his lower back that's practically begging for Erik's touch.

Erik is twenty-three, really, he knows what to do with his cock and everything, he's not going to make a fool of himself and crumble over Charles's (absurdly endearing and startlingly effective) lack of subtlety in his seduction attempts.

(That is possibly the worst lie Erik has ever told himself.)

Charles entirely drops the concept of personal space when he's with Erik, as well as finding ways to invite himself and Raven over to Erik's place, before Raven "suddenly remembers" she has other plans that evening.

"Raven has friends to go see today," Charles says the first time this happens, cheerfully, innocently. "We can watch a movie or something at your place, can't we? Just the two of us?"

"I do have friends to go see," Raven agrees blandly, when Erik corners her for interrogation later. "I have some unidentified friends to go see, and later today I will be in possession of Charles's Harry Potter boxed set. There's no correlation between these two events, of course."

"Of course," Erik says.

"No, but really," Raven says, "if I weren't shamelessly susceptible to bribery, you understand that I'd be cockblocking the fuck out of you, right?"

"I'm glad Charles's virtue rates so highly with you," Erik says flatly.

"Well, plus, I figure you're kind of cockblocking enough for the both of us," Raven says wickedly.

"I just want to—do this right," Erik says, knows that he's flushing a little at how inept he sounds, how ridiculous, as if this is the 1920s and he's asking for Charles's hand; if nothing else, Erik _is_ fully aware of ridiculous this is getting, because the only person who seems to have any problem with this is _him_.

Raven visibly melts at that, but it doesn't exactly help Erik with his problem, which is that Charles's persistence is unbelievable. Erik has never jerked off so much in his _life_.

In his bed, in the shower, on the couch sometimes, thinking about how Charles drives over to Erik's place after class, and inches closer on that very same couch when they sit together until he's pressed up against Erik's side, fingers falling oh-so-accidentally onto Erik's thigh; in Erik's mind, it's okay to picture pushing Charles down onto that couch, sucking his cock as greedily as he wants to, watching him go pink and breathless with want, and afterward, when Erik's fingers are sticky and his heart is pounding, he realizes he'll never be able to sit on that couch again without going hard. Erik's whole apartment has become a minefield of fantasies, that wall he's imagined pressing Charles against and kissing him senseless, the kitchen counter that is the perfect height for him to lift Charles onto so Charles can put his legs around Erik. Erik is in a permanent state of distraction over Charles.

Charles is both brimming with confidence and sometimes unsure, the way he backs Erik against a wall and goes up on his toes and kisses him firmly, telling Erik the first time he does so, "Don't be ridiculous, Erik, it's only kissing"; the way he blushes, eyes going wide, when he sees Erik watching him and Charles clearly hasn't even meant to catch Erik's eye, and the soft pink bow of his mouth parting open makes Erik grit his teeth and wrench his gaze away.

Erik is, quite honestly, in over his head here: he's blunt, and he's been called aloof, and he doesn't want much to do with most people; he's never learned how to be careful with someone, and he _has_ to be careful with Charles, no matter how little Charles wants it—not because he's young, but because he's Charles, and he is important.

Erik has no idea what he's doing here, and yet, for all that, he's never been this happy.

He lets Charles surprise him in hallways and push him against things and kiss him, because Charles so clearly wants it, and Erik is only human, and there is nothing like the feeling of Charles tucking himself into Erik's body like he's trying to climb inside him; Charles has sly, wandering hands, and Erik laughs, low, against his mouth and traps one by the wrist and watches Charles pout at him.

Charles is shameless and beautiful, inexperienced but not naïve, assertive and a little uncertain, and Erik would take care of him _so_ well, find out what he likes, everything he's never thought of, everything he'd love, he'd make him so happy he'd never want to go anywhere else.

It gets harder and harder to pull away from Charles, and Charles looks more and more frustrated when he does, and Erik doesn't know how to explain how important it is that Erik do this right, that Erik be _good enough_—

"Erik, _why_ can't we just—" Charles says from where he's backed Erik against a wall, breaking off in helpless frustration, hands fisted in Erik's shirt.

Erik could give in so _easily_, and no one would blame him. Charles clearly thinks he's being nothing less than pig-headed and has told him so in no uncertain terms.

Intellectually, Erik knows there is very little difference between seventeen-and-six-months and eighteen; there isn't some magic threshold Charles will pass on his birthday that will make him more ready to have sex with Erik. Erik knows that what's holding him back is the most irrational kind of fear: his parents are gone, have been gone for years, and Raven and Charles mean everything to him, and if he fucks this up in any way, that will be it. He's thought of every reason why this thing with Charles is a phenomenally bad idea, has let Charles shoot each one down; but some part of him still worries that Charles might change his mind, that if Erik is pushing him into this—however unknowingly—and Charles wants out of it later, it will ruin this complicated thing that Erik holds so dear. Erik has been telling himself every day, like something to hold onto, that if he waits just a little while longer, then he's passed the test and he can make this _work_.

It's unfair toward Charles to project his own insecurities onto him, because in his head Erik knows, he _knows_ that Charles is not flighty or fickle, he doesn't make choices lightly, and in this he's probably emotionally better-equipped than Erik. Erik isn't waiting for Charles to turn eighteen because Charles isn't ready.

He's waiting because _he_ isn't.

Erik doesn't know how much of this he's showing on his face, but whatever Charles sees has him uttering a soft "Oh," of understanding, before he puts a hand against Erik's cheek and says quietly, "Okay. I'll stop pushing."

He's about to pull away from where he's pressed up against Erik's front, but Erik manages to clear his constricted throat and gather himself by that point, and grabs Charles by the hips, fingers tightening in place.

"It's not you, it's me," Erik says after a split-second of debate, very earnestly, and watches Charles's face do something complicated that means he can't decide whether to laugh or scowl or just roll his eyes really hard. Because Charles probably hears the honesty in the facetious comment, he settles for poking Erik in the side; and when Erik says oh-so-casually, apology and a plea both, "I—the ambushes can stay," Charles grins, open and bright, and kisses Erik with all the sweet presumption of someone who's been given explicit permission to do just that.

True to his word, Charles does not push for more than those kisses that leave him swollen-mouthed and mussed and endlessly tempting; but Erik is under no illusion, in the months that follow, that Charles is doing anything but biding his time.

That's all right, though. Pulling away from Charles gets no easier for Erik each time he does it.

Charles isn't the only one waiting.

* * *

><p>Charles's birthday, when it finally comes, is sacred territory for Raven and Charles, with years of tradition setting their plans, but Erik gets the night before with him.<p>

"Ask him where he wants to go for dinner or something, and then I guess you can take him home with you," Raven tells him, "and I want _no details_ on anything else that might happen afterward. None."

Erik rolls his eyes. "Raven, I'm not going to—"

"No details!" Raven says again agitatedly, looking as if she's inches away from throwing her hands over her ears, and hurries off before Erik can tell her that, really, he's not about to jump on Charles the minute he turns eighteen. He wants it at least a _little_ more well-planned than that.

"It's my birthday tomorrow," Charles announces when he sees Erik later, as if Erik had no idea. "I seem to recall it being somewhat important—how old am I going to be again?"

"You're a terrible brat," Erik says calmly, "so I really couldn't say."

"_Eighteen_, that's right," Charles continues, ignoring Erik's words, smile twitching at his lips. "Now, what is it that happens when I turn eighteen…"

"You get to vote?" Erik suggests. "I know how excited you get about the workings of our government."

Charles, who has started investigating the curve of Erik's cheekbone with his mouth, nips Erik's ear in response. "Are you going to be this awful to me on my birthday?" he asks, breath warm on Erik's skin.

"I suppose you'll have to wait and find out," Erik says, turning his head a little to catch Charles's mouth in a kiss that Charles gives in to eagerly, like he always does with everything Erik gives him.

* * *

><p>"I can't go to sleep in my clothes," Charles says casually. "Can I borrow something?"<p>

Dinner had passed by in a blur, and then Erik found himself asking Charles to come home with him almost without meaning to—except that he did mean it, really, because he might not have any plans for debauchery tonight, but he's never going to turn down more time with Charles. And so he took Charles home, watched a movie he bets neither of them remembers with Charles tucking his feet under Erik's legs, scrounged up some dessert while Charles laughed at the sad state of his fridge, and now Charles is standing in front of him and trying to break Erik's _brain_.

Erik is slightly frozen, trapped in the image of Charles wearing his shirt—too large, baring the curve of his shoulder, skimming his thighs—and then he catches the sly curve of Charles's mouth a minute later.

"Menace," Erik says in a tone that is supposed to come out fond, but emerges suffused with thick, rolling heat instead; Charles takes a sharp breath in response, and it's all Erik can do to break away from the hold of his darkening eyes and grab Charles something to wear to bed.

Charles looks as unfairly tempting in Erik's clothes as Erik imagined he would. Erik wonders, for a moment, if he will have the strength to put Charles in Erik's bed and take the couch himself, as he has planned; Charles solves that problem for him, sets his chin and says firmly, "It's my birthday, Erik. You're sleeping next to me."

"Not your birthday yet," Erik points out, but he's already going for the lights, watching Charles slide beneath the sheets and curl toward the side of the bed, an open space left for Erik to take.

"Close enough," Charles says, voice sleepy and a little smug and, perhaps, the slightest bit uncertain. "You don't have much longer to run away."

Erik gets into bed and finds Charles in the dark, drags him in close until they're touching arms-bellies-hips-legs, Charles's toes tickling Erik's shin and his head on Erik's shoulder, and Erik whispers in his ear, "Where would I go?" and means _How could I go without you?_.

"Nowhere," Charles says resolutely, even as he sinks into sleep, and Erik holds Charles as close as he can be without crawling inside him, and slowly falls under.

* * *

><p>Erik wakes with a start to find Charles straddling his waist, leaning forward with his hands braced on Erik's chest, face inches from Erik's. Erik blinks, eyes flicking to the clock by his bed. It's two in the morning.<p>

"It's my birthday," Charles says pointedly. "Now, are you out of excuses, or are there a few more you'd like to get out the way before you fuck me?"

And Erik—Erik is done. It's not like he hadn't known this was coming, really. And it's about time he let Charles upend his plans for some of Charles's own.

In one swift move, Erik flips them over and watches surprise light Charles's eyes when his back hits the mattress, cups Charles's neck and feels his pulse hammering under his fingers.

"I think I'm good," Erik says, grinning a little, fingers sliding smoothly down Charles's throat to dip under the collar of his t-shirt. Or, well, _Erik's_ t-shirt, really; and at that thought, Erik tugs the shirt down a little further until he can see a flash of collarbone, thumbs the curve of it when he does.

"_Good_. I won't say anything about how long it took you to get there, then," Charles says in an attempt at tartness, but it wavers a little when Erik reaches out to flick on his bedside lamp—the light is a soft golden glow, not too harsh, but enough to see everything clearly. Charles blinks a little, hair in disarray, and he's breathing fast and clearly wants Erik's hands on him, but there's also a flush spilling over his skin, and he looks a little nervous, and Erik remembers again that Charles has never done this before.

"You'll tell me if I do anything you don't like," Erik says, tipping Charles's chin up until their eyes lock, and it's a plea and half-order at the same time. Erik really, really does not want to fuck this up. He refuses to.

"You doing _something_ might be a start," Charles retorts, squirming a little, and Erik huffs out a laugh at the petulance in his voice, bends down and kisses Charles's half-open mouth softly, feels the sweet give of his lips as Charles puts his hands on either side of Erik's face for leverage.

Erik is still harboring the very slight worry that he might not be good enough or careful enough and what if he _ruins sex_ for Charles completely, and—

And then he puts his hand under Charles's shirt, low on his stomach, thumb stroking, and Charles shivers and goes hot-eyed, melting into the bed, and Erik feels abruptly both silly and relieved. Charles is _eighteen_—Erik remembers eighteen, when all he needed was the right kind of look to go blindingly hard. There are really very few ways in which Erik can fuck this up.

Erik rucks Charles's shirt up and skims his hands along Charles's sides, satin skin over the dip and rise of bones, thumbs one of Charles's nipples and watches him shudder in place; Charles swallows and says in a thin, panting voice, "_Please_," and _oh_—

"Sorry," Erik says, because no matter how sweetly it hooks into him, he hadn't meant to make Charles beg; it's only that there's so much he wants and so much he wants Charles to feel, and he'd like to do it all at once.

But _eighteen, eighteen_, he says to himself, and Charles has to be nearly out of his mind by this point. Besides, it's not as if he'll have a problem continuing afterward.

When Erik curls his hand around Charles's cock, Charles makes a strangled noise high in his throat, eyes slamming shut; Erik watches the delicate inky shadows of his eyelashes, the flush riding his cheeks, resists the urge to kiss Charles's panting mouth while he jerks him off.

A second later, he realizes there's no need to resist anything.

Erik leans down and kisses Charles's lower lip, tugs it a little with his teeth. Charles thrusts into Erik's hand, the slick-quick noise of it loud in the stillness of the room; his eyes are open now and fixed on Erik, vividly blue, almost shocked. It's no wonder, though, Erik knows it's different when you're being touched by someone else for the first time—

And Erik mentally rewinds that sentence, goes over it again: Charles has _never been touched by anyone else before_.

Erik swallows a noise that would be thoroughly embarrassing if it actually emerged, kisses the underside of Charles's jaw, then draws back and says wonderingly, "Charles, Charles if you even knew how you looked—"

Charles sinks his teeth into his own lower lip when he comes, until Erik tugs it free with his thumb; now Erik can hear the shaky, breathless sounds Charles can't hold back, the aborted attempts at Erik's name while Erik works him through his orgasm, cock striping his shirt with come. Charles goes boneless on the bed when he's finished, swallows a few times like he's trying to speak but he can't quite make it.

Erik carelessly wipes his hand on the sheet and watches Charles touch two fingers to his shirt, looking a little satisfied, like he likes the idea of leaving himself all over something of Erik's.

Or maybe that's just Erik projecting.

And then Charles looks up and catches Erik's eye, says in a tone that's trying for exasperation but holds too much languid, bone-deep pleasure to ever reach that, "Would you please get your clothes off now?"

Erik laughs, the bared-teeth, unguarded laugh that Raven tells him makes him look like he's about to take a bite out of someone; but Charles's eyes flash with heat at the sight of it, so maybe he wouldn't exactly be opposed.

"Sorry, did you want me to stop in the middle to take my shirt off?" Erik asks mock-solicitously.

"It's not like _I_ don't have hands," Charles says cheekily, wriggling eel-like out of his clothes and tossing them somewhere over the side of the bed.

"And was it the same?" Erik asks, voice a low rumble in his throat. "With my hand," he clarifies unnecessarily, and puts one of those hands on Charles's bare thigh, watches creamy white skin dimple under the broad span of his fingers.

"No," Charles breathes. "It wasn't."

Erik draws back and pulls his shirt over his head, feels Charles's eyes on him all the while. Charles stares up at him for a minute, until he says in a slightly strangled voice, "You're never allowed to wear a shirt again."

Erik grins, and says, "People at work might have a problem with that."

"No, I really don't think they would," Charles counters distractedly, and the look on his face has Erik kicking out of the rest of his clothing in record time; he lies back on the bed and tugs Charles over him until their positions are reversed, Charles straddling Erik's body, eyes wide.

For a brief moment, Charles looks like he doesn't know where to put his hands, until Erik says sincerely, "You can do whatever you like," and Charles makes a choking noise that sounds a little like a laugh, mutters something that Erik thinks might be, "—like you walked right out of my dreams—" and then apparently decides to take Erik at his word. He runs a thumb down the line of Erik's throat, closes both of his hands around Erik's biceps like he's taking the measure of them. The breath that Charles lets out in a whoosh assures Erik that he hasn't been found wanting.

Erik lets Charles explore at his leisure, hands fisted in the sheets to keep from _moving_ Charles where he needs him, teeth gritted with the effort of holding back; he wants Charles to do whatever Charles wants. Charles is frowning in concentration, fingers careful but not shy, and when he slides down the bed after a length of time and bends his head to trace the line of Erik's hipbone with his tongue, Erik couldn't stop the groan from leaving his lips if someone had a gun to his head.

Charles looks up at that, mouth dropping half-open at whatever he sees in Erik's face, and his color rises even as he swallows and says, "You can touch me too, you know."

Erik doesn't make him ask twice. He wants to touch Charles _everywhere_, has thought about it for months, but the first thing he wants now is to sink his fingers into Charles's hair and tug, gently, messing him up a little—so he does.

Charles cries out, a high, surprised noise; Erik's fingers pause and Charles demands peremptorily, "_Again_," and Erik drags his fingertips over Charles's scalp once more, pressing at the base of his neck, pulling on his hair a little harder this time. Charles drops his forehead against Erik's stomach, breath panting warmly against Erik's skin. The back of his neck is flushed warmly, and Erik can't resist the urge to run his fingers there too.

Charles rears up and says, "Oh, christ, Erik can I—" and he wraps his hand around Erik's cock, mouth falling half-open and head tipping forward as if of its own accord, and he's panting like he wants it so badly; Erik digs his nails into his own thigh to distract himself a little before he embarrasses himself completely.

"Yes," Erik says, and he doesn't even recognize the sound of his own voice, as dark and gritty as it is. "Yes, Charles, please—"

Charles's mouth slides over the head of Erik's cock, and Erik almost bites his own tongue off; it's shockingly good, for all that Charles has barely done anything yet, wet heat and the hesitant slide of Charles's tongue, the tight curl of his fingers. Charles is a little clumsy, but he's achingly careful, and he keeps trying to get more of Erik's cock in his mouth like he's greedy for it, like he _loves_ it. Erik touches Charles's cheek, the circle of his wet, pink mouth, and notes distantly that his hands are unsteady.

"Charles, do you—" Erik starts, and his teeth click forcefully together as he cuts himself off midsentence, because what wants to come out of his mouth is _Charles, do you want me to fuck you_, and he's _not_ going to be the one to bring it up first, not before Charles asks. It won't happen a minute before Charles is ready.

But Charles lifts his head away, and with his usual (often inconvenient) burst of perceptiveness, he hears the words that Erik hasn't let slip. "_Yes_," he says, eyes widening, hand tightening on Erik's leg, and scrambles up the bed until they're eye-to-eye. "I want you to."

Erik doesn't ask him if he's sure; Charles lies back on the bed, looking a little self-conscious, but his cock is hard against his stomach and he spreads his legs open with nothing less than eagerness when Erik goes for the lube.

Erik slicks his fingers and sinks one into Charles slowly, carefully; Charles's breath catches audibly, and his eyes flit from Erik's face to his moving hand to the rest of Erik's body that is taut with concentration, like Charles can't decide where he wants to look. Erik continues at this slow, tortuous pace, until Charles wriggles a little and says helpfully, "I've done this with my fingers before, you don't need to be so careful."

Erik freezes in place when he parses those words; jesus, like he needed the extra motivation. Charles must see the wave of blind lust that's turned off Erik's brain, because he flushes even pinker, looks more than a little pleased with himself. Erik thinks about Charles in bed at night, pushing his fingers inside himself and biting his lip to keep himself quiet, imagining it's Erik instead, perhaps; and Erik bites back a fervent curse, kisses the inside of Charles's thigh to watch his stomach tense in response, and stretches Charles open with another finger.

He fucks Charles with just his fingers for a while, half for thoroughness, half for the pleasure of watching Charles writhe and fall apart beautifully, moaning like he's been drugged, a wet sound that spills from his throat and kicks Erik low in his gut. Charles finally breaks, throwing a wrist over his eyes and snapping, "Erik, will you just _fuck me_." He's pink down to his chest, still covering his face, and Erik could happily listen to him asking for it a hundred times more, sweet mouth saying _fuck_ like he's holding the word on his tongue; but they're both dying for it, Charles nearly vibrating with need, and Erik could never deny him what he wants.

"Anything you want," Erik says, and it comes out rough and raw like he's swallowed sand; unsteady, honest. Charles takes his arm away from his face, hair mussed and sticking to his forehead in places, and his eyes, fixed on Erik's face, are the brightest blue Erik has ever seen.

Erik rolls on a condom and opens Charles up with his cock, a slow, inexorable push that has Erik panting for breath and Charles digging his fingers into Erik's tensed arms. The sound that escapes Charles's throat is steeped in something like relief, when Erik is as deep inside him as he can get; Charles shuts his eyes and says wetly, a ragged half-laugh in his voice, "You don't know how long I've been thinking about this."

"You'll tell me later," Erik says, and means it. He'll make Charles tell him sometime, all he's thought about, all that he's dreamed, all he's ever wanted, and then Erik will give it to him: _everything_.

Erik fucks Charles deep and slow, thorough, driving gasps out of Charles's throat, a full-out cry when he gets in at the right angle. Charles's nails bite into Erik's back every time Erik drives into him, tiny pinpricks of pain that fuel Erik's arousal, and there's sweat gleaming in the hollow of his throat; Erik can't resist the sight of it, bends down and licks the flushed skin there for the taste of salt and the feel of Charles's cry vibrating under his tongue, and Charles gasps out, "I can't—I need—" and fumbles for his own cock, dropping his hand away when Erik reaches for it instead.

Slick, hot weight in Erik's hand, and Charles barely lasts two strokes before he's coming between them, all over his own stomach and Erik's hand; he tightens around Erik's cock, body shaking, and with that and the choked sounds wrenched from his throat, the open-mouthed stunned look on his face, with how long Erik's been on the edge, he doesn't have it in him to last much more past that.

It's like being hit by a train when he comes, devastating and shattering, rearranging him from the inside out; he's dimly aware of Charles's hand slipping over his face and reaching around to cup the back of his neck, and when his breathing finally settles, Charles kisses him fiercely and steals the breath from his lungs all over again.

"Just think," Charles says after a while, after Erik has cleaned the both of them up and tucked the sheet around Charles's lower half so he doesn't get tempted to put his hands on him all over again, "we could have been doing that for _months_."

He looks smug, a little shy when Erik looks at him for too long, pleased and sated and debauched; and Erik sinks his fingers into Charles's hair, tugs at it to watch Charles squirm, and says with amusement and promise in his voice, "However will I make it up to you?"

"I'm sure I'll think of a few ways," Charles says, pulling Erik down on the bed so he can put his head on Erik's shoulder.

And with happiness like a warm stone in his chest and Charles tucked into his side, Erik buries his grin in Charles's hair and murmurs, "Happy birthday, Charles."


End file.
